


Worlds apart

by Occula



Category: U2
Genre: ARGH, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 05:05:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12269484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Occula/pseuds/Occula
Summary: Adam wants something he can't have. So does Edge. So does Bono.





	Worlds apart

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ on Sept. 30, 2003.

He grabs my arm, gently but insistently. He spins me around to face him, and the next thing I know his body’s pressed against mine and he’s kissing me, my back and his hands against the wall.

And just for a moment, as always, I can’t help it, I don’t resist it. I allow myself to savor the slip of his tongue alongside mine, the feel of his lean body, the smells of smoke and leather, the taste of one fuck of a lot of whiskey –

That’s what does it. It’s not fucking fair, not fair to him, not fair to me, not fair that I have to be the one to deny, to resist, but somehow I get my arms between our bodies and I push him away.

He lets me break the contact. He takes a step back.

“That’s enough,” I say, as always.

His eyes are glassy, but intent. His mouth is loose and sensual. He reaches for my hips. “Oh, come on, Edge,” he pleads, almost teasingly, as I block his hands. “Don’t you _want_ to? Doesn’t it feel good? I want you. You know I want you. Come on – come back to my room – God, Edge, I _need_ you —"

He’s gone from teasing to altogether too serious. “That’s _enough_ ,” I say, harshly. “No, Adam. Stop it. Just stop.” I sound brittle and shaky. That’s fair. I _am_ brittle and shaky. All I want is for this scene, or one like it, to happen – when he’s not drunk. All I want is for him to want me when he’s sober. All I want is to look at him tomorrow and see some memory of this moment, some recognition of this desire.

I know from bitter experience that I can’t have what I want. So fuck him; neither can he. I push him back another step. “Stop it and let me go,” I tell him. “Go fucking sleep it off and leave me the fuck alone.”

He looks like a forlorn child. I’ve hurt him. My heart wrenches for us both, but my pride won’t let me be just another romp for him. No. I want far, far more than that, and it’s all or nothing. Nothing.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, timidly, but I cut him off.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry … Goodnight. I’m sorry.” I walk down the hall and leave him there. I don’t look back. I don’t trust myself to look back.

Twenty minutes’ pacing in my room is all it takes before I betray Adam, myself, Bono, and all the principles I’ve supposedly just upheld.

I go to Bono.

And now I’m the cruel one, I’m the user. At least Bono admits his feelings for me, I tell myself; at least he doesn’t have to be on the verge of passing out before he’ll want me.

No, he wants me far too much. He accepts my moody silences and the frustration and hurt that I unload on him. He bears what I cannot. He loves me enough to swallow his pride and forget his scruples.

He loves me, apparently, more than I love Adam.

He lets me take it out on him, lets me wind my fists in his hair, lets me pretend, as best I can, that he’s someone else. He lets me be selfish, lets me snarl at him through my pain, lets me hurt him a little. Afterward, when we lie side by side but worlds apart, he still tries to comfort me as I shudder with grief and rage and self-loathing. I can’t even look at him for shame, but he holds me and tells me that it’s all right, that he understands, that everything will be all right. Somehow. Someday.


End file.
